


Hard to Reconcile

by Kaerith



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Miscommunication, Soulmates, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:47:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29093709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaerith/pseuds/Kaerith
Summary: Yusuf knows what’s happening: sometimes soulmates are able to find one another. At the first touch of skin-on-skin a specific magic happens: the two people will relive the events of a time period over and over until they are able to find out who their soulmate is and break the loop with a kiss.No one from the legends ever met their soulmate in a battle such as this, Yusuf would swear. There are thousands of men— how is Yusuf supposed to find the only one who matters?
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 24
Kudos: 148
Collections: All and More (18+) Kaysanova Gift Bag 2020





	Hard to Reconcile

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BladeoftheNebula](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BladeoftheNebula/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [BladeoftheNebula](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BladeoftheNebula/pseuds/BladeoftheNebula) in the [All_and_More_Gift_Bag_2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/All_and_More_Gift_Bag_2020) collection. 



> I read a story with a new take on soulmates (https://archiveofourown.org/works/17151227) and BladeoftheNebula’s soulmates and “Joe and Nicky get separated at one point in history and have to find their way back to each other” prompts inspired this.
> 
> I’m not sure it’s what you wanted, and this falls under the tag of “Meet-Ugly” imo, but hopefully, Blade, you at least like it a little bit. (Happy Ending, though, I promise!)
> 
> Thanks to thelovelylurker for kindly previewing this and making some much-needed corrections!

It’s happening again. Here come the invaders’ reinforcements, sun glinting off their armor and shields. They attack the besieged castle. Yusuf follows orders and wades out into the clash of army meeting army. One way or another he gets killed, and the next thing he knows he is waking up again on the battlements watching the reinforcements come over the hills like a flood. 

This is the fourth time Yusuf is reliving the same handful of hours. 

He knows what’s happening. Sometimes soulmates are able to find one another. At the first touch of skin-on-skin a specific magic happens: the two people will relive the events of a time period over and over until they are able to find out who their soulmate is and break the loop with a kiss. The legends make it out to be romantic, a disposable detour of time where no one but the soulmates will change their fates and even remember the uncompleted loops. Only the last iteration will end up being the true one. 

No one from the legends ever met their soulmate in a battle such as this, Yusuf would swear. There are thousands of men— how is Yusuf supposed to find the only one who matters? 

He has eliminated everyone inside of the castle the first three times. That only ruled out the easy ones. It means that his soulmate is one of the Christians, which only brings up a plethora of more problems that Yusuf doubts are worth trying to resolve. It would probably be best just to find the man, do the kiss, then part ways for good. 

(Unfortunately, Yusuf is a romantic. He doesn’t think it will be that simple even after he finds the man. He doesn’t think he will be able to let the man go forever no matter how much of an ignorant zealot he is.) 

There were only a handful of Christian soldiers that he could have possibly made skin contact with. He remembers the first loop and the five men he slaughtered— the fifth had also dealt Yusuf a killing blow. 

How do you find a handful of enemies in a roaring, clashing sea of bodies? How can you get the attention of the only one who will also remember the previous loops? 

Yusuf needs to make himself visible to as many men as possible. Hopefully his soulmate will recognize him and work to find him, as well. 

What can one man do to pause a battle? “Mehmed,” Yusuf turns to his friend. “I need to try to arrange a truce.” 

* * *

Yusuf thinks that all soldiers must be romantic at heart. To be romantic means that one must be imaginative and optimistic; most men who walk into a battle and face their deaths _must_ be hopeful and trust that they are special and will be spared death to emerge alive at the end of the day. 

His theory seems to be even truer than expected, because once he tells his comrades that he is in a soul-loop all of them want to help him. Even the fact that his soulmate must be one of the enemy doesn’t shake their desire to help. 

The men with flags and instruments are the most important factor. Once the drummers strike up a racket to get the attention of the nearby combatants, the bannermen clear a space by the doors. Yusuf is excited and cannot believe this is truly working as he looks at the soldiers all paused in their movements with their heads turned towards him. As loudly as possible, Yusuf yells out in Sabir, the language he expects most of the Franks to be familiar with: “I am in a soul-loop!” 

An arrow strikes him down before he can even finish that sentence. 

It’s less heartwarming to gather the drummers and bannermen up the second time, but it works just as well and Yusuf goes onto the battlefield sooner to make his announcement before getting almost entirely beheaded by a knight who just spurs his horse directly at him. 

The third time he finally is able to say, “I am in a soul-loop and trying to find my soulmate!” Enough of the men don’t care and the fighting resumes before anyone can begin moving closer to meet him. 

The fourth time, once Yusuf has their attention, he simply yells, “Meet me at the gate and just have some fucking sign so I can recognize you!” He retreats back to the gatehouse and sulks and hopes that word is spreading. (At least _that_ go-around he doesn’t bleed out from a stab wound before being finished off by getting trampled. He gets an axe straight to the face, which is blessedly quick.) 

Yusuf does the announcement again the next time, but then decides to pout in the pantry for the next two loops, waking up to restart the time as soon as he falls asleep. 

When he has encouraged himself to see if his soulmate might be at the gate again he is feeling rather annoyed at the universe in general and his unknown soulmate in particular. His nerves are always straining with tension, and the noise of swords and shields and horses and yelling has given him a constant headache. 

So his first words when he finally sets eyes again on his soulmate are never ones that he had ever imagined himself saying. 

He sees the Christian with a scrap of blue tied around his arm, locks gazes, and says, “Of course it would be you.” 

The man, with disconcertingly light-colored eyes, doesn’t look much happier. Yusuf recognizes him as that fifth man he had killed that first day; the one who had stabbed him in the stomach just after Joe had dealt him his own mortal wound. 

Yusuf’s commander chooses that moment to approach, shouts at Yusuf to attack, and then darts forward to kill Yusuf’s soulmate himself. Yusuf has to turn his saif against the man. It is disgustingly easy; the man’s wealth had earned him his rank more than experience or skill. 

”Come on.” Yusuf grabs the invader by his wrist and pulls him through the scrum to that same pantry, which seems much smaller now that there are two of them in here. “I am Yusuf al-Kaysani.” 

”Nicolò,” his soulmate says. He shuffles to a clear portion of the floor and sits down. “This isn’t what I expected.” 

Yusuf finds his own space to sit and chuckles bitterly. “Nor I. It has been a terrible few days.” 

There is an awkward silence before Nicolò says, “Good thinking on figuring out how to get my attention.” 

”Thanks.” 

It’s awkward. They keep studying each other and then pretending that they aren’t if the other meets their eyes. 

”So what is special about you?” Yusuf finally asks. 

Nicolò looks uncomfortable at the question. “Well... I always thought that my attraction to men was a sign of my moral failing. I became a priest. I thought I was good at it, my favorite part of my service to God is helping those in need. But my superiors decided that I would serve Him better as a soldier.” 

Yusuf tries to focus on the positive clues of Nicolò’s character in that statement. He is humble and kind. He is also, from Yusuf’s own very personal experience, a deadly fighter which he can also appreciate. 

But Nicolò sounds mostly like a sheep: dull, timid, easily controlled. 

”Obviously Allah does not think love between men is unnatural or immoral,” Yusuf chooses to say first. “He would not have made us soulmates in that case. I am decidedly not shy about my attraction to men.” 

”I have done a lot of things with men!” Nicolò says defensively. Yusuf is on the verge of voicing his approval, but then the priest ruins it by saying, “Never one like you, though.” 

...What did Yusuf expect from an invader? Of course he is a bigot. He presses his back more firmly against the wall, crosses his arms, and doesn’t bother trying to hide the disapproval on his face. 

Nicolò does not miss Yusuf’s reaction and he sounds a little tentative when he asks, after a long silence, “What about you? Career soldier? You have the skill.” 

”Merchant. Well, formerly a merchant. I grew up training with the guards of my father’s caravans. Fucking the guards of my father’s caravans,” he adds, and it makes the priest squirm and Yusuf feels cruelly pleased. “If I wasn’t here having to defend our lands from greedy zealots, I would be back home doing art and studying literature. I am not a soldier by choice.” 

The priest nods. His throat bobs with a hard swallow, and he fixes his gaze on where the wall meets the ceiling. “Doesn’t sound like we have anything in common, then.” 

”Definitely not.” 

Nicolò fidgets and looks unhappy. “We should probably just kiss and stop the loops. So we can move on.” 

Yusuf opens his mouth to agree but then another thought occurs to him. “If we do, at least one of us is very likely to be killed. For good, I mean.” 

”Oh,” The knight says. Clearly that had not occurred to him, either. “Well, maybe we should just do this then. Meet up and find a quiet place. This is the first time my head hasn’t rung and hurt in days.” 

”We will end it when we get tired of each other and when death seems like a welcome respite,” Yusuf agrees. It is a grim thought— never one that he would have imagined that he would be saying if he had known he would be (un)lucky enough to be trapped in a soul-loop, but he cannot conceptualize enjoying this man’s company. He may be interesting to look upon, but he was as far from Yusuf’s type as possible. Nicolò, too, looks utterly unimpressed with Yusuf and his revulsion at the idea of being intimate with a brown non-Christian is clear. 

* * *

They keep meeting, finding small dark places to hide from the violence of the siege, exchanging strained conversations in Sabir, falling asleep, and then doing it all again. 

They agree that neither of them are ready to face death again— for real— yet. 

Yusuf cannot always keep Nicolò’s presence secret. A large cloth tossed over him helps to disguise him in the chaos of the fight except when they encounter one of Yusuf’s allies face-to-face. “We are in a soul-loop. This is Nicolò.” They get disbelieving looks every time, but Yusuf leading an enemy soldier through their stronghold, like there aren’t thousands of men fighting and dying around them, for any other reason would be even more unbelievable. There has never been a suspicion of disloyalty for Yusuf from anyone ever. So every man gets a constipated expression on his face, blinks, nods politely, and just continues doing whatever task he was in the middle of. 

* * *

Nicolò isn’t as bad as Yusuf had initially thought. He is quiet and thoughtful, but has a streak of dark humor. For such a slender man, he confesses a surprising interest in cooking and food and will wax poetic about particular dishes he has eaten. He coos at the cats in the fortress and tries to get all of the half-feral little beasts close enough to touch. He says that his father had made him take lessons with a swordmaster since he was a boy, but that he would have preferred being placed in the archer corps than the infantry. He likes cool weather more than hot. He had agreed to become a priest because he wanted a quiet life and had no desire to marry. 

Yusuf tells Nicolò all the things he has never admitted to anyone else. They are in their own little circle of time, their own bubble of dim nooks and the muffled clanks and screeches of violence roll around their tiny world of quiet like the tide around an outcrop. Nothing that he and his soulmate say feels like it will matter once they decide to break the magic. 

So Yusuf explains to Nicolò how he had followed in his family’s trade because art and writing was too uncertain to be a primary profession. How he had seen his sisters marry and have fat babies that had pulled at his beard. How he had traveled along the coast of the Mediterranean from the great ocean in the West to the lands of the Hebrews in the East. How he had seen more and more villages and cities over the past decade sacked by the Christians and how hatred had boiled in his veins. How his father had been getting more and more insistent that Yusuf get married even though he knew his son’s interest did not lie in that direction. (His culture seemed more accepting of relationships between men than Nicolò’s; but everywhere, it seemed, producing children was given much more importance than individuals’ happiness.) 

* * *

They don’t grow older. The cut over Nicolò’s eye never heals. They begin every cycle with the bone-deep weariness and hunger of men locked in war. Some days they meet at the gate and shout at each other before turning away and taking out their useless rage on other people. 

Sometimes Nicolò does not meet Yusuf, keeping time for himself or getting killed before he can reach the stronghold’s walls. 

More and more Yusuf wants to see those rare smiles of Nicolò’s, try to name the colors of his eyes in sunlight and shadow. See how he looks without the armor and other material trappings of his faith. Taste his skin. Fuck him roughly. Make love to him gently. Just hold him and relieve some of the weight it seems has been crushing both of them for years; now looming only temporarily and held back by the tension of a single kiss. 

Every time his thoughts drift to anything tender, he remembers Nicolò saying _never anyone like you, though._

* * *

The soul-loop is never a respite. The encompassing death and violence make any peace in this place impossible. Nicolò has had to wade through bodies and blood and cut down enemies and allies to get to where Yusuf waited for him, grudgingly, every time. Sometimes Nicolò doesn’t have the strength or the will to brave that gauntlet and pierce his sword into yet another victim. 

He had become disillusioned with their crusade months ago, even before that first day when he and Yusuf had killed each other. It had seemed useless before; and now, after learning Yusuf’s perspective of the invasion, the entire endeavor seems unfathomably cruel and destructive and decidedly unholy. 

Only their soul-loop would end with a kiss. There would be no simple end to the war. 

Nicolò can’t talk to anyone about his revelations. None of his fellow Christians would understand, and he can’t express his horror and guilt to Yusuf about what he had done here in the “Holy Land.” He should just insist on a kiss, part ways with Yusuf, and let himself be killed. But he is too selfish. Too afraid to die after having recognized his sins. He could find a confessor before he ends the loop, go to the afterlife with a forgiven soul, but that feels like cheating. (Besides, he doesn’t have faith anymore.) 

Nicolò remains weak, craving Yusuf’s company enough to slaughter other men to reach it, delighting in his rare smiles, stealing glances to admire his form. He is so unlike anyone he had ever spent time with; there is a soul of such deep kindness and intelligence in Yusuf that makes Nicolò feel entirely unworthy. 

And he is. Nicolò has been complicit in committing horrible acts against innocent people. He does not deserve to be one of the rare few who meets his soulmate. Before he would never had had the hubris to question God, but now he is less sure that there is a divine Someone whose plan has been revealed to the prophets and the Pope. 

If this war was truly holy, Nicolò’s soulmate would be to bolster his faith. Maybe, instead, the great unknowable force behind all things wants Nicolò to learn the truth. Maybe He wants Nicolò and Yusuf to somehow change the course of history. 

* * *

Nicolò comes to Yusuf one repetition to say, “Maybe we are meant to do something to change all of this.” He gestures to the men around them who are locked (again, still) in this endless battle. 

”What can two mortal men do?” 

”I do not know.” The priest looks lost but not defeated. There is a straightness to his spine and shoulders, a stiffness to his jaw and chin, that proclaims a proud desire to fulfill whatever destiny Nicolò seems to think is theirs to carry out. 

So they try to stop the battle. Devise strategy after strategy to carry out through an untold number of loops. 

Nothing works. The momentum of men already in the mindset of _kill or be killed_ , with their blood high and drunk on false tales of their righteousness and lies about riches and paradise is too much for two men to turn. 

They meet once again, both in dark and self-pitying moods, in the pantry. 

”Perhaps we are meant to make changes on a smaller scale?” Yusuf suggests, unhappy to see how that fervent light of motivation has died in Nicolò’s blue-green eyes. 

The knight shrugs. “How can we affect anyone but ourselves when no one will remember what has happened?” 

”Maybe we are meant to stay together,” Yusuf says. “Flee the fight and find some other way to help others after real time resumes.” 

”Then we may as well kiss,” Nicolò says dully. There is no eagerness in his tone, no joy or hope. 

”We may as well.” This is not at all what Yusuf had wanted when the first loop had begun, but nothing about their situation had ever given him reason to hope that their meeting meant that things would work out well for him and his soulmate. 

* * *

Instead of meeting at the gate as usual, it is Yusuf who needs to journey towards the enemy fortifications. If Nicolò meets him halfway there will be fewer men around them that they will need to fight off. Neither side is going to be happy to see one of their own collaborate with someone from the other side. 

Yusuf tells Mehmed that he and his soulmate have met and made a plan, but doesn’t bother to try to make his friend actually believe him. He ignores all the orders yelled at him to return to his post. He runs until he is closer to the line of invaders than the walls of the fortress and waits to see if Nicolò will meet him. 

The priest does. Yusuf can see his hair, bare for he is without his helm, as he approaches. 

”Shall we go?” Yusuf calls to him and points west, the direction they had decided to go together. 

”Wait!” Nicolò shouts back. He has left his armor behind with his helm, and runs unencumbered by nothing but his sword-belt. 

Yusuf wonders what has changed; wonders if his soulmate has another plan, will betray him. But he waits until Nicolò finally reaches him. 

They are alone. Eyes from both armies watch them, but it is just the two of them in the trough where the waves of metal and flesh have collided iteration after iteration, unceasing forces of hatred and violence clashing to meet in death and blood. 

”Why do we wait?” Yusuf asks. 

”I told them,” Nicolò says, breathless. The hope that had been missing in the man’s eyes has returned. His cheeks are pink and his eyes sparkle with the impetus of having a mission, a worthwhile and valuable goal. 

”Told who what?” 

”I told the men in charge that there is a miracle about to happen. That God has shown me that it is peace He desires here, between our peoples. That I will prove it.” 

Yusuf almost hurts at seeing how strongly Nicolò wants to believe that two men can stop a war. He will not try to take that belief away, though. Perhaps this is Allah’s plan and Yusuf is the one lacking faith. “What are we going to do?” 

”Break the soul-loop,” Nicolò says easily. 

”And then go west?” 

He nods. “If the horns still sound the attack.” 

”Then there is no point in waiting any longer,” Yusuf says. For the first time he reaches out to offer a hand to Nicolò in peace. Since their first deadly meeting, and their first rendezvous at the gate, there had been few intentional touches between them. Now, in this moment that reminds him poignantly of the danger in the very air around them, Yusuf realizes that he loves this man. 

He isn’t naive enough to think that this will end with them both alive and heading west. Nothing is going to stop this war until it reaches its natural bloody end. The forces behind it— Allah, Fate, or simply the will of powerful men— were too strong for a mere two men bound by destiny and love. 

At least Yusuf _knows_ he loves Nicolò. At least he can see how hopeful his soulmate looks; can pretend that his eagerness is more _for_ their kiss than the priest’s idea of what will come _after_. 

Nicolò lets himself be pulled against Yusuf’s body. Meets Yusuf’s eyes with his own and smiles. 

Yusuf closes his eyes against the cavalry approaching them from behind Nicolò’s back and kisses him. 

* * *

Their kiss doesn’t stop the battle. The mounted Christians hit Nicolò and Yusuf first, and the horns to charge resound from both armies before they both die in an even crueler version of their first encounter. 

* * *

Nicolò expects to see the walls of the tent again when he opens his eyes. Instead, he sees the sky. It is only when he sits up and sees the carnage around him, the bodies and the scavenging birds, and the bloody remnants of his clothes without his armor that he _remembers._

_Yusuf_ is his first conscious thought, full of grief and desperation. The first utterance from his lips. “Yusuf?” 

His soulmate had been right here; should be right here. Nicolò staggers to his feet. “Yusuf?” 

His wounds— the one from his brother knight that had killed him, the cut on his forehead that has been there since before all the soul-loops even began— were gone, as if they had never existed. 

Yusuf isn’t far. Well, his body isn’t. Nicolò falls to his knees and touches him in the ways he had daydreamed about but never had actually done in fact. Gently and familiarly. He lays his hands on his chest then on his cheek. Pulls the lifeless body of his soulmate up to lean against his as he shuts his eyes and cries, cradling him. 

He doesn’t pray. Can’t. The emotional pain is too much; fills him up until there isn’t room for anything but grief. 

The first gasp Yusuf makes shudders through both of them. When he opens his kind, dark eyes Nicolò’s soul rejoices.


End file.
